I Can't Speak Your Language
by Animedrawngirl
Summary: Jack and Le Mime have a great impact on each other's lives. When a boy who can't talk get's to know a boy who's over imaginative a language all it's own get's created. When a teen helps a depressed boy see the light again, that language blossoms into one of true love. They don't need to be able to speak each other's language to communicate their feelings. (LeJack Fluff/Smut)
1. Je ne parle pas françias

Je ne parle pas françias

My life is not one fit for a happy children's book. It's a life that I'm very frustrated with. It consumes me and spits me out into a deep tar pit of shame and pain. Ever since I was birthed I've been labeled a devil and a curse. I've been cast into a void and I can never, ever escape and find a light. No, I've been dealt the worst and I'll never see pure white.

My oldest sister often tells me about what happened when I were birthed. She scorns me and hates me late at night when she thinks I'm asleep. I was two weeks early and my mother had collapsed from starvation since I constantly made it hard for her to stomach food in the last month. My siblings had rushed her to the hospital while the oldest boy had went out to tell my father at work. The day was terrible. Rain poured from the sky and snow slicked up the roads making the dark journey frighteningly atrocious. My mother had gotten to the hospital fine and started to deliver me almost instantly. My father, however, was no where near as lucky. It's said that right when the bell hit nine, I was born into the world and my father and brother were hit by a truck and died.

I'm a curse, and every one knows it. My family knows it and leaves me to suffer the worst. What little food they have goes to them first and I live off the crumbs. I have to find my own clothes and water. I have to sleep by the door that squeaks far too much and doesn't have a latch. It's the only place for me to sleep in the house they say. I know that if some one breaks into the house, I'll be the first to die. They'll hear my death and run while they can.

Every night I go to sleep cold, hungry, exhausted, and frightened. I can hear disaster constantly. The poor get evicted. The drug dealers do their business and tie up loose ends. The cops come and go as they please. Alarms, sirens, gun shots, people crying and dying. These are my nightly lullabies.

I'm broken. I remember this every day as I walk the two miles to my school. Every one sees me as that toy that should have been left at the garbage dump. Some how I ended up finding the courage to walk out of the disgusting pit of filth only to be openly ridiculed by students, teachers, principals, and every one in between.

Every child knows the fear of being called on in class to answer the question out loud. For some, they don't know the answer, for others, they weren't paying attention. However, I simply can't answer. No matter how much I might want to, I can't. I can't talk at all. I'm mute. I'm broken.

I have very recently decided that I do not belong in school. Teachers refuse to work with me and teach me. Students hate me and mock me. My only problem is my family will almost certainly kick me out if I don't at least get a job to help support us.

Today is the end of the second week I've been looking for a job. No one has hired me. No one can understand me. I'm angry. I want to yell out my frustration, but I can't. I'm broken.

I've visited fish companies, shop keepers, café workers, and every one I can think of. No one will even give me the time of day. It's late, but I refuse to go home. It's nicer out here. The cool night air gives me my last spark of hope as I wander around the allies and side streets of Paris. There's a small slit of light coming from the moon, but it can't touch me here. Not in my black void. Not in my cursed world.

I'm far from any main road now and the sounds of a late night Paris barely reach me. The night is young, but I have nothing but lamenting to do. Time seems to march on slowly, letting me think.

I round a corner as I try to figure out what else I can try. I feel myself hit something and fall backwards. I hit the cold hard ground. My gaze sweeps the street trying to find what I hit. A small groan brings my attention to a small boy who, like me, was splayed out on the ground. He quickly jumped up and tried to help me up. This boy was odd looking. He had white skin paler than the moon. His eyes shined like bright red stars. His hair was white as snow, but was slightly spiked up in the back.

The boy speaks to me. I don't understand him. What ever he's speaking, it's not French. I look at him, angry and confused. He finally shuts up and tries again, but this time in my language. His accent is very heavy, but I can still make out what he's saying. The little Chinese boy in front of me asked how to get back to the Eiffel tower.

I'm so furious. I try to yell at him. How dare he interrupt my dark day to make it worse. I'm scraped up from that sudden fall and I hurt. I try desperately to yell at this tourist idiot, but all I can do is make faces and point angrily at him.

The boy in front of me seems to understand my problem though. He frowns for a second then smiles. He says something in his language again. Ignorant asshole. He tries again. "Ne sois pas fâché. Vous pouvez étre un mime." His quiet little voice echoed inside my mind. I could be a mime. That had to be the dumbest idea I'd ever heard. I could never be a mime. No doubt I'd mess that up. I slugged the boy in the face and pointed over towards where the tower would be. Maybe now he'd run off and never bother me again.

The small Chinese boy got up and dusted himself off. He started rambling about how his mother said never to get mad or sad at a person if they take out their anger on you. He started going on about needing love or something. I simply walked away from him. I'm tired of the people and this damn night. I decided to just go home.

The little moon light boy stopped me and held on to my hand. "Viens avec moi." He pleaded. His red eyes looked up at me glittering in the moon light. The way his tiny voice said the words made me break. I finally turned towards the tower and started to guide him that way.

I disliked the feeling of small red eyes on my back. I knew he was staring at me. Those red dots were taking in the look of the less fortunate. I'm sure my torn shirt, old ill-fitting jeans, and worn out shoes were quite the sight for this strange boy. I ran my free hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down a bit. I might have been ten, but I already looked like I'd been in a few bar fights.

As soon as we got to the main street, I could feel the boy running towards something. His little pale hand never let go of my dirty tan one. He pulled me along with him. God, this brat is annoying.

"Mama! Papa!" He exclaimed. He had dragged me right to his parents. I clenched me teeth, waiting for the inevitable. They would look at me, shoo me away, and call me names as I left. They'd insult me and my family. They'd laugh at how broken I am.

The boy excitedly started talking to his family in his language. They replied back, not bothering to notice me. His mother crouched down to his level and talked to him a bit more before nodding her head towards me. I think the boy introduced me. The woman smiled at me and said something odd. Why can't these damn tourists speak French? She tried again. "Voulez-vous vous joindre à nous pour le dîner?" My stomach rumbles at the mention of dinner. I look up her, unsure. Was this odd woman really asking me if they could buy me dinner?

I nod slowly. I'd be dumb if I ever gave up a chance at free food. The three of them laugh and start walking down the street towards the fancy restaurants. The little boy never let go of my hand. Instead, he held his mom's with his other hand. I was forced to walk along side these rich Chinese tourists as if I belonged with these rubbernecks.

They had found a wonderful and expensive place to eat right on the main street. There was an amazing view of the tower and the performers across the street. They let me sit facing the window. The mother asked me my name. I shook my head. She insisted. I gave her an angry look. The boy spoke up from his chair. She looked back at me with a sad look on her face. She apologized. They know I'm broken. I recede into my chair a bit. I don't belong here.

When the waiter came they ordered a great deal of food. They also let me poke to a few things I wanted. They talked, mostly in there language. The mother would ask me stuff from time to time. I could always just shake my head yes or no to answer. They seemed nice, unlike what I've known all my life. Maybe, just maybe, I could one day have a happy life like theirs.

The food quickly filled up the table, to the point where the waiter had to bring out smaller table to place some of the food. I gawked at the sight. Never had I seen so much to eat splayed out in front of me.

They dug in and told me to do the same. They were weird in etiquette. They would just reach for food on another's plate. If they wanted to eat it, they did. The mother finally explained that it's not uncommon to share all the food instead of stick to just one plate. She encouraged me to try it. I uncomfortably reached out for a bite of meat that I had wanted to try. The father suddenly slammed his fork down on the plate I was about to eat from. I bounced back in my chair and opened my mouth to scream. Nothing came out.

The wife smacked him and said something very angrily to him. He hung his head in shame and muttered a few words in their language before shakily trying to say "desolée". The woman finally coaxed me to keep eating and promised that this time he wouldn't do that to me.

The boy explained that his dad did that to see if I was really mute. He also said he was a bit of a jerk some times when it came to his friends. I looked at the boy. Surely he didn't think us friends.

I tried to forget the odd foreign family as I ate, so I stared out the window. Across the street was a tall man in a stripped shirt and some face paint. He used his body to talk. He was good at it. I could understand what he was doing even from across the street in a building. I stared at him longer, wondering how he did it.

I sat like that, slowly eating, even though I felt well past full. I didn't pry my eyes away until I felt the little boy staring at me. He smiled and looked at where I had been looking. Crap, I might have just proved his point. I ignored him for the rest of the meal.

When the family was done eating, they argued with the waiter until he finally found a way to package up the left over food. Damn these people had some weird traditions. We left the restaurant and they bid me good bye. The mom handed the boxes of left overs to me and apologized for keeping me out so late.

I made sure to hid the food near the house, but away from the family. Why should I share my food if they never shared theirs? I went to sleep quickly that night. For the first time in my life, I was happy.

After I had made my rounds looking for a job that next day, I went to the tower. I found more mimes, and I watched them. I found out that they could actually make good money if they were really good and people were nice. I stood off to the corner and tried to follow along with their movements and tricks.

A few hours of practicing later, an older mime came up to me. He'd apparently been watching me all day and noticed that I had a natural talent for miming. The man asked me to try sitting in a chair that wasn't there. I did what I saw another guy do earlier, but I couldn't quite get my butt far enough down to look realistic. He showed me and had me try again.

I smile. I don't feel as broken. Neither of us talk. We can understand each other very well. I try again and this time I close my eyes, waiting to accidentally fall backwards and fail miserably. I feel something. I look down and see I'm sitting on nothing though. The older man applauds. He smiles at me and coaxes me to try something else. I decide to do that lasso trick I've seen. I imagine I have a lasso and I swing it. I can hear air get displaced. I throw it, hoping to catch the man in it. He goes along with the act and acts like he got caught. I smile and pull it a bit. I see small creases in his shirt that make it look like he's really caught by a lasso. I silently laugh and try pulling again, wondering what he might do this time.

To my surprise, he is yanked forward. He lets out an audible yelp. I drop my imaginary rope and stare at him, scared. He's instantly released. The rope never existed, I tell myself. He was just pulling my leg.

The mime leaned down to me and made sure no one was looking before he told me that I was magic. He then had me sit on the chair again. I did, and once again I feel like I'm sitting on something. The guy walked behind me and picked up my imaginary chair. Sure enough, he was right. I was picked up with the chair and started to float in mid air.

Tourists and regulars alike gawked at us, trying to figure out the trick. Scared, I imagined the chair was no longer there, and fell to the ground. The older mime motioned for me to follow him. I went back to his little station he had set up for his miming business. He had me sit on my mime chair as he pulled out some paint and a sponge. He smeared the stuff all over my face and put two cute little red ovals on my cheeks. The man had me spend the rest of the day doing an act with him.

We steel the show from every one else and the money rolls in. We do this late into the night. When we finally pack up, he wipes off the paint for me and hands me some of the money we brought in. He handed me a small hat he had in a bag of his. He explained that it was his son's until the boy out grew it. He wanted me to have it and practice until I was perfect at all I did. The man smiled, waved, and walked off.

Early that next day, after finishing the food the Chinese people left me, I ran off into town to find some paint and a shirt. I had found my talent. I had found the purpose of being broken.

I really need to thank that kid if I ever run into him again.


	2. Wǒ bù huì shuō zhōngguó huà

我不會說中國話 (Wǒ bù huì shuō zhōngguó huà)

It's been nine years since I ran into that little silver haired, pale skinned boy. Ten long years of practice, self teaching, and performing. That boy had flipped my life upside down in just one night and helped me live freely. Nine years since a light was able to penetrate my dark world and cause the void to collapse in on itself.

I had started out working side by side with a few older mimes who were looking for a young face to learn their tricks. I never found the one who gave me my hat though. I learned two years after having started the trade that I had caught him during his last performance. He was dying of cancer at the time and somehow convinced his family to let him go out for one last night on the town doing what he loved. He died shortly after that night. I visit his grave often. Flowers habitually decorate it. It seems the old man was well liked and is greatly missed by many.

I slowly started to make a name for myself. My act was always sure to draw in crowds of tourists and regulars. I've come to have a weekly schedule and people often come out to see me mime. I've had celebrities and powerful people stop by, talk to me, see my act, and give me some private gigs. To the country of France, I am known as the one and only mime: Le Mime. There is no one on the same level as I. I relish in my talent and the smiles that greet me every day.

I was able to move out of my house quickly and buy some books so I could teach myself what the schools never would. As I learned about the world, I became more and more fascinated with the country of China. I've looked into their food, music, clothes, traditions, and people. Every time I think of that big wonderful country, I think of the little boy who changed my life. Thanks to him I'm popular, I can support myself, I've taken up learning for fun, and I have a job that I adore.

Tonight, I leave the glittering city night early. I stop by a café and pick up a small snack to eat at home. They know me well on this side of town and the girl working is a huge fan of mine. She charges me nothing but my name on a piece of paper. I smile for a picture as well and go on my way. The people really treat me well now.

Back at my small one room apartment, I hang up my hat with care. The bowler has grown to be very small on me, but it still looks as good as it did the day it fell into my care. I wear it with pride and regard it fondly. It sits on my dresser, just a few inches away from my poster of China. I often look at the picture when I'm stressed or feeling depressed.

I give a soundless yawn as I wash the paint from my face. No matter how many years I wear face paint, I'll never stop being amazed when I watch a new face greet me in the mirror after a little bit of soap and water. My tan skin has paled slightly by wearing paint every day, but it's not by much. I step back and admire myself as I change into nothing but my boxers. I've grown a lot since I was ten. I'm nearly as tall as the doorway now. I've also developed muscles and I've filled out a bit, but still have a very lean appearance.

I wash my clothes quickly and hang them out to dry for tomorrow. My mattress wraps me in warm fuzzy blankets and rocks me to sleep quickly. My dreams are filled with a country I've come to know well, though I've never seen it. A familiar face looks at me and I smile back. We smile and embrace after so many years. I find a love in my dreams that my physical body has never come to know. I know that after so many years of admiration for this boy, that I had grown to love him with all my heart. I just wish to find him one day and tell him that.

I'm awaken from my dream by the pounding at the door. I haven't heard that noise for four years at this point. It throws me back to when I lived at home and our situation was still very unstable. I fear the worst when I go to open the door. I wonder how quickly I can find a new place to stay after having grown so fond if my first apartment. A shaky tan hand reaches for the knob. I stop short after catching a glance of myself in the mirror next to me. I grab for a shirt and try to smooth out my hair. The black mess doesn't cooperate and I'm forced to open the door looking like I had just come out of a fight.

The two well dressed men outside my door look me over for a second. I'm wearing cotton boxers with pictures of the Eiffel tower adorning them. I have a loose red shirt on and one of my shoulders is exposed after the cloth slid down a bit. My black hair spikes every which way. I give them a slight smile and hope they forgive my appearance. I usually don't wake up until later in the morning.

"Are you the one known as Le Mime?" questioned the shorter of the two men. He had a large white moustache and a nice suit on. He smiled gently at me, making me a bit more comfortable. I nod. "I've heard that you are the best mime in town!" the man boasted.

"In all of France actually." The tall, well muscled man interjected. He looked down at me, but smiled a gentle smile that few know how to pull off. His gray hair was slicked back into a tamed ponytail under a large top hat. He was wearing a nice shirt and some black slacks. I shrug and smile back. I never know what to say to such nice complements.

"I have a proposition for you young sir!" The smaller man boomed in a strong voice. I quickly look around the hall and hope no one comes out yelling at me for the racket. I motion for him to be a little more quite. He lowers his voice a bit as he continued on . "Let me introduce myself, I am-"

"Might we come in so as not to bother the rest of the floor?" The taller man interrupted. I slowly nod and let the two odd men into my small flat. I have no chairs in the place so they stick to standing. I walk over to my dresser and jump on top of it to sit down. I wait for them to continue what ever they were saying, but they seemed much busier scoping out my living space. The smaller of the two walked up and gave my China poster a good long look before smiling back at the other man.

"Mind if I sit?" The smaller man asked. I motioned for him to get comfortable. He quickly plopped onto the mattress before continuing. "You see, I'm Gregory. I own a traveling circus."

"Le Cirque du Amusement to be precise." The other man chipped in as he inspected my mime clothes hanging outside through the glass door.

"Yes, well we're in a bit of a pickle. Our mime was one of the best around and bless her heart she's having her baby this month. She'll be on maternity leave for a year."

"We wish her the best."

"Very much so. This puts us in a bind though, because we're scheduled for a road trip to China where we can début our circus. Our mime was one of the lead acts and we need desperately to find someone to replace her."

I cock my head to the side at this point. Are they asking me what I think they are?

"Would you mind coming with us as our mime? With your talents, a circus act isn't all that hard. You just do some of your outstanding acts, smile, wave, and help out a bit with the clean up. You'll be paid for your efforts, have plenty of time to yourself between shows, and of course you will be credited as one of the main acts. All you really have to do is leave your apartment behind. We can even pay you some upfront to help cover the rent on your place while you're away." The taller man explained.

My eyes lit up and I could feel the biggest, goofiest grin cross my face. I physically could not nod my head fast enough for this offer. The two men burst into laughter as my wild hair whipped through the air at break neck speeds.

The taller of the two men looked at his watch, said something to the smaller, than saw himself out. "He had prior engagements." The smaller explained. "Anyway, if you don't mind me asking some questions, we can set everything up."

I mimed for him to ask his questions all while having the goofy grin glued to my face. "Can you tell me your real name? How much do you need for the yearly rent? Also, do you know any Chinese?" I chewed on my lower lip for a second, trying to figure out a good way to respond. I finally decided to look in my bathroom for the notebook that I usually kept in my pants for when I have unexpected conversations. Just like every other day, it was sitting next to the light switch, visible on the way to the hallway door, next to my key, wallet, and gloves. I swiped the book and accompanying pen from the white speckled counter and wrote down the information as I walked back to the man sitting casually on my very messy mattress.

"Quite devoted to being a mime I see. Our last mime wasn't quite a stickler and would often forget to shut up when off the clock!" He giggled from his place amidst the blankets and pillows. I handed him the piece of paper with the information on it and leaned against the dresser behind me. I made the familiar motions of "I can't speak". He seemed to think my miming was much like charades since he spoke each word out loud, guessing what I was doing. As soon as the pieced the words together, he looked up at me, face frowning. "Oh dear, I didn't know." He muttered. His eyes fell quietly on the floor before looking back at me, as if expecting me to be sad over loosing something I never had. I gave a shrug to show that I didn't really care, then motioned to the mime clothes hanging up outside. "Yes, well you have become quite the mime from this terrible accident of fate."

His eyes finally rested upon the paper in his fat little hands. He smiled at the paper and muttered something about just calling me "Le Mime" since it was easier and had more of a ring to it. I smiled and shrugged again. I had become so accustom to that name, that I had almost forgotten my real one. Even the person who rents me my apartment seems to have forgotten it and just has it under my street name.

"Tell me boy, is it okay for me to come along with you today? I wish to see your act and how people respond to it. I think you might want a mouth as well to tell all your fans that you'll be taking a year's vacation from France." The mustached man inquired. I nodded and motioned for him to give me a few minutes to get ready.

I rushed to get dressed and do my hair and makeup. The little man looked upon me in astonishment as he saw the before and after of my daily transformation. Only grandpa mime, the name I had given to the man who took me under his guidance that first day, and myself have seen me go from normal person to white faced mime.

"I'll never get tired of seeing how different people can look when they get into costume like that. Why, I almost didn't recognize you as the boy I'd been talking to just a few minutes ago." He boomed on as I picked up my prized hat and gave it a quick pat before placing it on my head.

We headed out for my final performance in France for a while. I stopped by a nearby café for a quick breakfast on the go. Since it was a spring Sunday, I went to my normal spot by the Eiffel tower. A small crowd was waiting for me when we arrived. The small man quickly blended into the people, which was quite the feat since he didn't exactly look normal.

For nine hours straight, I performed for the crowds, the passer-byers, the tourists, the regulars, the fans, and the small man. It was time for my break, so I thanked the peopled for their money and time. The small man quickly scurried up to my performance spot and announced to the people who had gathered that I would be traveling with the cirque for a while. Some cheered me on, some were sad to see me go, and others quietly made their way up to my collection stand to drop in a few more euros to support my travels. I smiled and thanked them all as I mimed that I'd perform one more show after my dinner break.

After a quick break I made sure to put on the best performance I knew. I pulled out all the tricks, all my magic, and made sure everyone enjoyed it. I levitated on ascending stairs, I flew around in a small plane, and I was snatched up by a tornado.

The taller man had apparently joined the smaller an hour before the end of my act. Afterwards, the two congratulated me, welcomed me officially to the cirque, gave me information on where to meet them tomorrow, and handed me enough money to cover a year's worth of rent. Stunned, I wandered home in a high of happiness. I even stopped at my favorite café, which was quite a ways out of my way tucked away in a small corner of a long forgotten park. I picked at a small cake as I packed, paid the apartment manager, and took out all of my saved money. I had plenty of it to spend in China since that money was what I had collected over the years to fund my attempted trip to China.

As I pulled the last of my shirts from my drawer, I found a treasured item. A small plush I had made years ago, before I ever moved out of my family home. It was of a smiling white skinned, silver haired, red eyed, Chinese boy. The memories of terrible events this doll had gotten me through swirled around it. I carefully packed him and looked over my suitcase. I realized that I only had two mime outfits that I really fit into ever since I'd hit my growth spurt a few months back and turned into a very tall nineteen year old.

After changing, shopping for more outfits, and bathing, I could only get a few hours of sleep. Excitement and anticipation had kept me up most of the time though. I couldn't help but look over at my full suitcase of money, the Chinese doll, and my new mime outfits, just to remind myself that this was real.

I was out of my bed before the sun ever lifted above the horizon. The sheets were folded in a corner, the apartment was cleaned and organized. I grabbed my hat and made my way to the meet up point. I could feel the last few cold gusts of night wind caress my bare skin as I walked. It had been a long time since I walked this way with out paint on my face and a stripped shirt setting me apart.

The minute I stepped within visible distance of the cirque was the exact minute that time seemed to speed up. I was rushed around to meet the people who had been working there for many years. I heard about the old mime and how she was a tough act to follow. I saw the pack up and we were off before breakfast time.

I ended up in a caravan with a very old gypsy and a few strong men. They all laughed and talked as I sat back and absorbed the whole experience. It felt like an out of body moment or maybe an excellent dream. My eye lids slowly drifted down and the sounds of the morning tried to lull me to sleep.

Before I could ever start dreaming, the older woman called out to me. Her voice cracked as she beckoned me over. I crawled over the rickety wagon floor to where she sat still as a rock. A long thin robe like outfit cloaked her. She had an aurora about her that seemed to peer into me.

"Child." She said as her long hand stretched out and the nails caressed my face. Her jewelry clanked as she moved. "You is still but a child." She hummed. She lifted her face up from the floor. The long purple veil that hid her face from me was lifted up just enough to show me the two empty sockets in her face. I leaned in a bit closer. I couldn't help but stare a bit. I felt my two hands grasp one of hers in mine.

Most people would feel sorrow for her loss, but I felt comfort. I found some one who was like me. She too was broken. However, she could see with out eyes, just like I could talk without words.

Her fingers caressed my face a moment longer, feeling my smile. Finally they glided down to one of my hands. She turned it around in her hands and felt it while her missing eyes stared deep into mine. The longer she sat there reading my hand, the more she shook.

"My you is an interestin' one." She said through a dry mouth. She was missing a tooth so there was a promenade whistle when she spoke. "Give grandmother a hug." She said as her arms spread apart waiting for me. I obliged and instantly felt the warmth from a mother when her arms firmly grasped me. "Such a hard life fer a small un' like you."

I hugged her tighter, hoping not to break the frail feeling woman pressed against my chest. I felt her hand brush through my hair as she whispered. "You're not broken. You're gifted in ways no one else is. Never let anyone tell you otherwise." I could feel a heat travel down my face. Her shoulder was quickly dampened by my tears.

I pulled away as soon as I had calmed down a bit. Her blank sockets looked at me with love and concern. "I see you have a love. A strong bond with un' from yer child'ood." Her hands glided up my arms and rested for a moment on my shoulders. "A lucky un' too. This boy of yours is smart, strong, and will love you true." I smiled at her as she explained to me what she saw. "IF you can convince him."

I couldn't help but give her a questioning look. What did she mean by if? She apparently could feel my question since she kept speaking. "He's a shell of what he was. Just like you, he was hurt by life, bad people, and darkness 'as consumed him. You'll have te pry hard to find the boy you once knew." She frowned as her hands dropped to mine. "I'm sure you 'an do it though. True love prevails." I gave her one last quick hug.

"Grannie said you have yourself a romance?" One of the strongmen asked from behind me. The other man scooted in closer before adding, "And a boy no doubt!" He patted me on the back. "I had myself a lover once. Best person I ever met. I had been faced with the problem of choosing love or to live the same way I'd been for the last twenty some years of my life." He reminisced.

I gave him a questioning look. Wondering what he did. To answer my question, the man who was talking slid his hand into the other man's. They stole a glance at each other, smiled, and looked at me. "I haven't missed my old life."

The rest of the day was nothing but travel with the occasional stop to feed and water the animals and people. As I laid in my hammock in the caravan car with grannie, weights, and mass, the nicknames of the two strongmen, I couldn't help but smile. I had finally found a place where I was accepted by wonderful people who were like me. It felt like I had finally come home after a long trip. This trip to China was turning out to be a lot more interesting than I had thought.


End file.
